Over The Rainbow
by Blue Yeti
Summary: A message to give; a night that shall never be day; a fight between what’s right and what’s right; a motorbike through Italy; a dream and a prayer; a broken man of broken hope, of broken dreams and mind; a wedding that isn’t there...Rainbow-coloured
1. White

Disclaimer: Any characters/situations recognisable from the Artemis Fowl books belong to Eoin Colfer and his publishers. Not me.   
**Author's Note:** This was written to be read in a continuous go, one after the other, to be seen on one page. The reason that I posted it here on ff.net with the 8 drabbles separate chapters was so that if a reader didn't like the idea of a particular pairing/concept of a section then they could skip it but read the rest. The drabbles don't link up and are about different characters so missing one or two should be fine. 

  


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**1. White** (422)  
Julius slipped into the room, moving his feet in such a way so the heavy boots wouldn't make a noise as they hit the ground. He stood there for a moment, then ran a hand through his hair, noting that his hairline seemed to have retreated even further - like a cowardly army turning in a rout - since last he looked in a mirror properly. He adjusted his belt, pulled it higher so it wasn't sitting below the bulge of his belly but resting atop, hopefully smoothing its protrudance somewhat. 

"What are you doing here, boy?" Said the aging elf, opening one eye and fixing his gaze on Julius. His hair was a brilliant white, standing out against his sheets, and his features crinkled with age. 

"I have something to tell you, sir." 

"I don't want to hear it. Do you really think I care of what goes on out there, from in here? Do I have time for anything except getting on with dying?" The man gave a cynical snort of laughter, the sort of laughter you can only get from many pain-filled, indescribable years. 

"It's important." Julius's belt slipped down and his stomach flopped over yet again. 

"Everything's important to you, Julius. Everything is important to someone, so therefore you take it upon yourself to think it important as well." 

"It's about your son." Julius was almost holding his breath, a lost hope resurfacing for a moment in time. 

"He doesn't care about me, why should you? And why should I care about him at all?" 

Julius's voice was soft, not argumentative. "Because he's dead. And even though dead men don't get anything from forgiveness, those forgiving don't feel so guilty." 

"Is that the news? Because someone from your office already gave the nurses a call and they told me. I don't care 'bout him." 

"That's all I wanted to tell you, sir. I'll leave now. I thank you for your time, and I'm sorry to have disturbed you." Julius turned his back, walking towards the door, towards the hall, towards the outside of this stuffy, dingy hospital. 

"I was right about him, though. Wasn't I, heh, Julius?" 

"Yes. Yes you were right, Mr Cudgeon. But I wish you hadn't been." Julius sighed, turning once again from the man in the wheel chair. 

"He could have been good though." He muttered. 

He walked away through the hospital corridors that were as white as the old man's hair. So pure, such good intentions, yet it always shows up the dirt. 


	2. Red

Disclaimer: Any characters/situations recognisable from the Artemis Fowl books belong to Eoin Colfer and his publishers. Not me.   
**Warning:** Character Death.   


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**2. Red** (185)  
In moonlight red looks black. 

Artemis looks black all over. The black blends into the black of his suit, the black of his hair, the black of his soul. The pieces of paper beside him look as if the printer leaked black ink all over the text. 

Although he's hidden in the shadows of the alley there is a patch of darker shadow all around him. 

The cops are coming, but slowly. Because although they must have heard the shot they are paid to have hearing difficulties on occasion, and they aren't paid enough to be quick and alert – it doesn't even cover the medical bills. It's very useful. And it's been useful for Artemis himself before, yet now it's not. 

The sirens can be heard in the distance. They scream. But there's no one to hear them, no one except for Artemis. He wants to scream, but can't. 

They stop for a doughnut on the way. 

They arrive too late. 

Artemis doesn't notice. 

And all they can see is black - resting, covering, smothering the white of his brow. The night is like that. 


	3. Orange

Disclaimer: Any characters/situations recognisable from the Artemis Fowl books belong to Eoin Colfer and his publishers. Not me.   
**Warning:** Julius/Briar ... non-slash. They don't actually do anything, rather decisions against doing anything is made.   


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**3. Orange** (605)  
Briar feels the weight of the Book in his pocket - so small, yet so oppressive, so painful; it's heavy enough to bring him down to his knees, crying. He runs a bit further, promising himself that he'll stop sometime soon. 

He doesn't. He can't. Because then Julius might catch up to him. And Julius terrifies him. He can't understand how someone can be so carefree, so impulsive, have such a disregard for rules and society. He's scared of what Julius could do, what Julius could make him do, what Julius would do to him, what Briar wants with all his soul to do to – _with_ - Julius, without prompting, coercion. 

The Book. It all comes back to the Book. They live for the Book. They live by the Book. And they hate it, yet there is no other possible way to live. You can't rebel against that which you are, and so the fey are submissive, dismissive. Briar hates it. But Julius hates it enough to do something. 

Briar holds the magic too dear to do anything. He can't rebel, because although he doesn't like the Book, doesn't like the Council, or the rules, or not being able to hold his best friend in the way that he wants to, although… he still wants his magic, even though it is that society, is those rules, that Book, that gives him his magic in the first. He couldn't stand losing his magic. His magic is what he measures himself by, and he can't understand how he'd live without it. 

He stops, halfway across a bridge over a ravine. He pulls the Book from his pocket, having vague thoughts about throwing it over the edge, as far and fast and hard as he can. The Book shouldn't be able to stop him from doing that. But it still can. It's warm, hard, the golden leather cover burning orange in the light. He holds it over the edge, fist clenched, faced upwards. He releases his grip, but still it rests upon his palm. There's nothing that will make him upturn that hand, however much he wants to. Not even the memories of Julius in front of him, daring him to give up his magic in favour of the unknown entity called '_us_'. 

Briar pulls the Book back from the edge, letting it flip open. It flips to the page, something which incriminates him as much as any actions or telepath would. 

_"And any who lies with a person of the same gender, or with an animal or non-Person, shall be banished from Our People. They are mutants who cannot live among us, as their ways are not our ways, only the ways of evil. To ensure that they can't hide their sin they will be stripped of magic at the moment of sin. They shall live, if only for others to know of their sin and change their own ways."_

Briar feels as though he might retch over the edge after reading the life-rules once more, even though they are memorised and vibrating through his mind continuously. Like Julius is. 

--Hands upon his back, sweeping over his shoulders, lightly brushing his cheek. And he wants it, so much… And an almost kiss, lips hovering over his own. And it would be so easy to lean in, touch them. But then he'd lose...— 

The magic was too important. Briar can live without Julius, but he can't live without his magic, his power. 

He loves Julius, but he loves his magic more. 

And has already made his choice. 


	4. Yellow

Disclaimer: Any characters/situations recognisable from the Artemis Fowl books belong to Eoin Colfer and his publishers. Not me.   
**Warning:** Holly/Juliet slash, PG-13   


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**4. Yellow** (688)  
The road was slick and shiny with the remains of the rain that fell 40 minutes before. The moon reflected from the wet bitumen and had mocked them, if only either were listening or caring. But they weren't, so it was fine. 

The motorbike tyres gripped well on the road surface, and the road itself was remarkably well kept for the rural area of Italy they were travelling through. They barely noticed that, Juliet only keeping tabs so that she could be able to steer the bike safely and keep them from harm. 

They were travelling at night because they liked the quiet, they liked their privacy, and Holly hated the sunscreens since they always made her skin dry out. In any case Holly was shielded, not using enough magic so that her location could be picked up by radar down in Haven. They had taken off their helmets just after they started riding; the air felt good singing through their hair. 

They passed through a tiny town, only a village, that would disappear beneath the tourist trade within three years on the outside. It was peaceful, the streets deserted and bare, but in their minds they could see the bustle of the markets and the families with large mothers trying to keep track of her children through the people. 

They were both slightly scared that the noise of the bike would be too loud, loud enough to wake a small child from sleep, but from experience they knew better. They kept going, the bike dancing down the centre of the road. 

They had been travelling for 5 hours already and Holly's buttocks had gone to sleep, so she shifted slightly and almost instantly the sharp pangs of pins and needles flooded through her. 

Juliet laughed, the sound splitting the air into its rainbow components. It was the depth of blue, the darkness of red, the joyousness of sunshine yellow… 

Holly tickled her, Juliet squirming and the bike skidding across to the left side of the deserted road. They were both breathing heavily from adrenaline and their close call as Juliet straightened their course. 

Holly tried for a more subtle approach, speaking no words she shifted her right hand from sitting loosely on Juliet's hip, drawing patterns with her fingers across her lover's stomach to meet up with her own fingers resting on Juliet's other hip. The tiny, teasing hand brushed downwards, flitting across the top of Juliet's thigh once, almost to the knee, before stroking back along the inner towards the junction between hip and leg. Juliet shivered in the warm air, shifting her grip on the handlebars slightly. Holly grinned into Juliet's back, shifting her own body closer so that her head rested against Juliet's shoulder blades. 

She let the hand slide away, back down the side of Juliet's thigh— There was another bike coming up from behind, and Holly checked that her shield was still in place. 

"_I can give you some real vibrations between the legs, missy._" The man said in Italian. 

Juliet's jaw clenched and she threw off Holly's calming hand. The man had no idea what was coming next… 

Juliet smiled, her special 'weak female' smile. He moved his bike closer, a feral, bright smirk on his face. Her hand came up and contacted with his chin, hard. He went down, falling from his bike. His bike skidded to the side of the road where it fell over into a ditch, the wheels still turning. 

They moved on, Juliet not looking back at the prone man. "You shouldn't have done that, Juliet. You didn't need to." Holly whispered into her back, cuddling closer. 

"I'm sorry, love. But… I hate that." She gestured with her head towards the road behind them, the fallen man already faded into the distance, his shape a darker shadow on the road. 

"Trust me, I know what you mean. But you don't need to do that anymore. _We_ don't need to do that anymore." 

"I know." 

They sat in silence once more, and the game didn't start up again. They were going to a better place, and were happy with that. 

…wherever that might be. 


	5. Green

Disclaimer: Any characters/situations recognisable from the Artemis Fowl books belong to Eoin Colfer and his publishers. Not me.   
**Warning:** Artemis/Butler; PG-13-R   


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**5. Green** (465)  
The silk sheets twist around him as he tumbles and turns on the bed, moaning and crying into his pillow. He dreams of Butler. Of Butler's hands and touch and warmth and eyes and shaved scalp and thin lips. Thin lips wrapped around him like that boy from school's lips had been wrapped around him, all so long ago in time and space and memory. 

He dreams of wet lies, of smooth factuality. He dreams of heat and depth and saviour. He dreams of life, and death, and wishes. He dreams of dreaming sane dreams. 

He dreams of impossibility and protective arms. He dreams of smooth teasing kisses, like most would never imagine that Butler would be able to give, but Artemis knows that he can, would; he knows of, has seen for all his life, Butler's soul… And he takes comfort in it. 

And he dreams. Not only in the night, in the relative safety of his bed. But in the day also, in reality, wishing that he'd come back. 

He wakes and his sheets are soaked with sweat and semen, sticking to the hairs on his legs and forearms. 

Angeline knocks at his door. Artemis's eyes open in a way that shows that he would do anything to keep them shut for a little while longer, to sustain the illusion by shutting out the world for just a minute more. 

A rim of discoloured white, almost yellow, shot through with red, surrounds the blue of his eyes. And around that is deep shadows, looking like bruises. 

"Church in 25 minutes, Arty, dear." Angeline calls through the door. "Get ready." 

And of all the things she could have said, it has to be one of the two that have the power to stir him from his solitude. 

He showers, trying his very best to think of nothing at all. He dresses, trying not to remember the time when he'd laughed at Butler for looking as if he was a stone pillar that had been wrapped around with dark cloth. He straightens, and tries to forget how long it was since he'd last stood tall of his own volition. 

It's a beautiful church, with sandstone walls and rose-coloured stained glass windows beside the confessional box. But the carpet is ugly, a patterned tan on which the ancient pews stand like displaced art. 

He doesn't listen to the sermon, to the idiotic man droning on in a boring tone. But he wishes, he hopes, and that's his form of prayer. 

He wants Butler to be found. 

He notices that it's the 13th Sunday in ordinary time; the priest is wearing green. He takes offence. Don't they all know that now, this moment, is far, far from ordinary. 

He's just figured out how to get Butler back. 


	6. Blue

Disclaimer: Any characters/situations recognisable from the Artemis Fowl books belong to Eoin Colfer and his publishers. Not me.   
**Warning:** Nursing Home-ness.   


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**6. Blue** (704)  
Juliet rested her head on the side of his bed, old herself, but he was so much older. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, feeling unsatisfied; wishing for the time when it hadn't been like this, even though it always had been. He'd always been 22 years older than her, and he always would be. It was just that she'd never considered the prospect of Domovoi Butler in a nursing home, being feed tasteless mush by unconcerned women in pale blue and pink uniforms. 

He wasn't gone yet; he wasn't gone at all. It was just there didn't seem to be as much of him left as there once was. 

Juliet could hear the half-hearted, pretend celebrations through the half-open door; no one would really celebrate a new year - a year closer to death and a year further from life - in a place like this. It was New Years Eve, 2046, soon to be 2047. And it was so long ago that he had spun her around as a 7-year-old; so long since he'd laid a comforting hand on her shoulder as she planned to leave Ireland for training, travelling by herself; it was so long since she'd been young, and so much longer since he'd been what she always remembered him to be. 

There was a view of nothing from the window. She closed her eyes again, trying to block out time, the scene, the place, the smell of stale lives and disinfectant that was infecting her nostrils. 

Domovoi's hand moved from the bed sheets, slowly, painfully. And on top of her head it rested, heating her mind with its warmth. At least he was still warm, which was more than could be said for the world. 

"_Somewhere over the rainbow_," he sang, his words low and incredibly soft, "_bluebirds fly. Birds fly over that rainbow, why oh why can't_—" Butler broke into a fit of coughing, forcing himself up in to a sitting position. He clasped a hand to his emaciated chest where the stains of the Kevlar fibers were showing through the skin once more, his unique tattoo. 

"-_-why, oh, why can't I?_" Finished Juliet, smiling a smile without happiness. 

"How've you been, Juliet?" he said, speaking in Russian. 

"I can't complain about anything much. You?" 

He shrugged, pain evident on his face as he did so. "The food is shit. It's New Year's, right?" 

She bit her lip and nodded, thinking of the celebrations and invitations that were flying around like so many aeroplanes outside this place. 

"What's your resolution?" 

"I haven't thought of one yet." _To be less selfish,_ her mind whispered. _To come here more often. To live, while I still can._ "Yours?" 

"I think I'd like to die this year. It's something I haven't tried yet, not properly, and something I still have the power to do." 

Juliet felt the tears welling in her eyes, stinging at the corners. She bit her lip once again to keep them inside. 

Domovoi lay back on the pillows, shifting slightly. He lightly ran his hand through Juliet's silver-streaked hair once more. 

Juliet didn't let the tears leave her eyes, keeping them inside so as to not upset her brother. Here she was, being selfish again; she shouldn't be crying, he was the one who had to live this life. She closed her eyes, just listening to her brother's heavy, hard-won breathing. She heard the celebrations in the block opposite, sighing. 

A firecracker went off. And it was all so fast. 

"GET DOWN! GET DOWN!! Juliet, get down!" Domovoi pushed himself up from the bed, rolled off it and pulled her down behind him, shielding her with his thin, shrunken body. 

Juliet was crying. "There's no one here, Domovoi. There's no one shooting at us. There's no one you have to protect. The war's over." 

Domovoi paused, his breathing heavy with adrenaline, his mind trying to work out what was real and what was fake, and what was God's sense of humour. 

He rolled off her body, collapsing on the floor. Not paying any attention to his useless, paralysed legs. Juliet wrapped her arms around her brother and, for the first time, realised her hands could meet up properly behind his back. 


	7. Purple

Disclaimer: Any characters/situations recognisable from the Artemis Fowl books belong to Eoin Colfer and his publishers. Not me.   
**Warning:** None   


* * *

**7 Purple** (384)  
The ribbon tied around her bouquet of white roses was royal purple; a single cornflower had been added to the bouquet by Angeline's younger sister, who'd insisted that white and roses were boring. The same sister had tied her lavender silk scarf around Angeline's waist. 

Angeline couldn't find the scarf. She looked everywhere, had looked backwards and forwards and everywhere. But she couldn't find it. The lip-stick on the pillow smudged and she searched. 

She couldn't find it, although her mind wasn't conscious of what she was looking for. She just knew that she had to find something, someone, life… Because if she left it any longer she would be gone, like he was. 

Timmy liked purple. He thought it royal, and he thought her royal. Purple and Angeline were linked, continuously, completely. Like her worry and anguish and pain were linked with Timmy. Though she didn't quite remember why. But she knew that it would be better, it would be alright, everything would be fine, that at one point it had been… and if she found it… 

She couldn't find it. She couldn't find him. 

"Mrs Fowl?" 

She jumped, glaring at the door, hands sunken to the elbows in her underwear drawer. 

"Helga isn't here, there's only me, Angeline. And I can't find my scarf. Timmy won't marry me if I don't have my scarf." She announced to Juliet, her emotions and thoughts not quite attached to the moment in time that she was technically occupying. 

"Would you like your tea, ma'am-- _Angeline_? It'll do you good." 

Juliet moved past her, putting the tea tray down on a sidetable. She moved around the room, picking up the strewn pieces of the last meal she'd brought her employer. She picked up a half-crunched biscuit from the floor by the window, brushing the curtain on her way to stand up. 

The afternoon sun streamed in, lighting a shaft of dust through the stale air of the attic. 

Angeline screamed. Everything was moving. There were things - vengeful, evil things - flying through the air, coming towards her. 

She brought her hands up to cover her face, to hide her eyes from the sight. She was holding a piece of lavender-coloured silk. 

She didn't know that her father-in-law would interrupt this version of her wedding night. 


	8. Black

Disclaimer: Any characters/situations recognisable from the Artemis Fowl books belong to Eoin Colfer and his publishers. Not me.   


* * *

**8. Black** (114)  
The skies, if there had been skies, would have been an angry dark grey, only a shade below/above black. And if there had been skies there would have been clouds, dark, menacing, foreboding clouds that spoke in low voices of terror and pain. And these, if they existed, would be slit open with a razor, the lifeblood of the damning clouds spilling forth in torrents and floods. 

Underground there is no rain. But, without it, there can't be any rainbows either. 

It's just black, all the different shades of black. 

But above it's not much better, colour serving to highlight those parts that are bland, lifeless - all trying to hide behind the rainbow. 

_finis~_


End file.
